


In Full by December 31st

by m_aruka



Category: Original Fiction - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Bondage, Complicated Relationships, F/M, False Identity, False Memories, Faustian Bargain, Force Bondage, Future, Futuristic, Hallucinations, Homicide, M/M, Male Slash, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Murder, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Power Play, Psychological Warfare, Rough Sex, Science Fiction, Suicide Attempt, Toxic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 16:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_aruka/pseuds/m_aruka
Summary: A retired business man finds himself plagued by personal issues, making the end of his own life his last goal. Until a beautiful, young, yet mysterious business man finds him, and offers to rid him of his woes- not by offering him a job, but all the pleasures in life he's been missing. But all great pleasures, come with a price...





	In Full by December 31st

“Tonight I celebrate."

To what, you may ask? Ah, well to all of my accomplishments, of course. I especially have a lot to be grateful to. Never have I been a man lacking needs. I had it all.

The supporting folks’, the academics, the sportsmanship, the women… never a dull moment. But I’m afraid that most of us are pretty oblivious as to the speed of things; acquiring everything in haste, burn through each and one of them like a meteor piercing the atmosphere- that’s what happens when you get ahold of everything at once. We cannot control the timing outside our bodies, but little do we know time itself is an enemy, when all things collide.

I had it all.

When my time stopped, and “all” stopped altogether, I couldn’t find what I was missing. I was bored. I still am, and it’s killing me.

Regardless, I will celebrate. I will celebrate having achieved all my academics, all my goals… the goals all of society wanted me to finish. To save face, to stand up on my own, somewhat. I landed a great job, I had a great income, earning me great things. I could live where I wanted, I could eat whatever I craved.

But I also realized we’re oblivious to the fact we spend our whole lives listening to foreign voices, and seldom do we listen to our own. Despite having everything, I had been thirsty for freedom, and thirsty for something to call my own.

Once you exceed everyone’s expectations, don’t expect them to ever be satisfied. They will bend you at will, thus, indirectly exploiting you to “keep in pursuit of all the great things”, all to feed an impersonal hunger they cannot understand.

Due to unresolved ennui, I am finding myself miserable. I even regressed to a rebellious stage, ending up estranging myself from everything that I knew. I stopped talking to my parents, my colleagues… there wasn’t a single friend or acquaintance I wanted to know of. I quit that marvelous job. I am a miserable hermit, drowning in my own boredom, living off whatever savings I have left. Unfortunately, money can’t afford me an ounce of motivation to move on. So tonight I’ll celebrate the last hours of my existence.

 

* * *

 

The weather was splitting cold the night of October 1st. Since I have an aberration of time, let me remind you that years don’t matter in this account. There is supposed to be a bit of advancement, yet for the city of New York, this beautiful dame once called ‘New Amsterdam’, no matter how many years we walk into the future, she resists the urge to age even the slightest bit. Hell, she even manages to turn back time, right there, in front of our faces. As it is now, she stands of incomparable beauty, taking back the old garments from her ‘roaring twenties’, only ever accentuated with hints of our digital present. The old grey steel that used to dress her up is back, more radiant that ever. One can come back in time here, whichever time they want, but the notion of the present, I advise, to leave behind.

As I headed towards Brooklyn, gazing atop its sterling bridge, I could almost feel the cold lifting itself from the metal beneath my feet and making its way down my yellow ochre scarf, the wind roaring insistently. Rays of gold permeated through the concrete fortress before me, emanating from a sky transitioning backwards from pink-to-blue. Every corner connecting said bridge to and from the giant isles, glistened with the artificial glow of giant headlights and various other illuminated contraptions. Its source of artificial light was accompanied by the roaring sounds of levitating vehicles, which, at last, made their presence in the world. Land transportation was not annihilated yet, however; we still had cars, trucks, and of course, we still had some of our elusive yellow cabs left. But aside from having the city looking as whimsical and as brilliant as ever, the magnificence of less land traffic could not compare. I can’t imagine what a century ago would have felt like upon witnessing this resolution.

Having reached my destination at the other end, turning underneath the bridge, I walked a couple of blocks searching for a pub called, “The Black Horn”, which I had searched from a list of recommendations regarding emerging restaurants. I had chosen this place due to its thematic concept of the roaring twenties the city had re-adopted. Walking in, a young woman wearing a perky flapper dress, reminiscent of the same era the pub had adopted, greeted me inside with a blinding smile.

“Welcome, sir! Would you like a table or will you be sitting at the bar this evening?”

The intention of me joining the bar must have adorned me like an aura, I reckoned.

“The bar”, I answered.

“Very good then. Here’s a cocktail menu. I should let you know that a martini happy hour begins at 7PM. We also have a special on oysters as appetizers tonight, you can inquire at the bar. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks.”

As I stepped in, I drank in the sight as the primary gulp of that night, seeing as the entire place was just as promising as the pictures I had browsed online. The place was permeated by the glitz of the era, clearly demonstrating an impeccable taste of art deco. A modern day, yet perfectly themed ‘speakeasy’. The walls were emerald green, contrasting with the black furniture, as well as the bar counter, illuminated by vintage lamps and chandeliers, bathing the atmosphere slightly in dim gold. Adorning the walls were several picture frames with vintage pictures of art and the good times, as they depicted their dynamism, witnessed through the various blurred lines. The roaring twenties did it swell, alright.

The place had opened for the evening not too long ago, seeming as the bar wasn’t taken up yet. There were plenty of people at the tables, however, the whiff of their dishes trying to change my mind into having dinner instead. But not tonight. I meant for it to be an intoxicating night, in the self-sabotaging sense, not at all romantic, that is.

I signaled the bartender, who was at the other end of the bar, deeply focused as he wiped a few of the wine glasses dry. An interesting bloke, if I say so myself. He was young, and almost clumsy, having jolted just a bit as he took notice of my presence. He walked my way, pulling out a larger menu than the one I was given earlier; the food menu of course.

“Oh, no, I will just be drinking for the night, no eating, thanks.”

As he held on to the menu instead, he fumbled with it as he tucked it back into his apron, giving me a nod of understanding.

“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks. What time does the martini happy hour starts?”

As if to extend the question and not sound so plainly, I asked the time again even though I knew. His nervousness was beginning to irk me, so I didn’t want to presume intimidation.

“Uh, at seven sir. Will that be all for now?”

The fact that he was quick and inattentive was an advantage. He didn’t even suggest brands or types for me to choose from. But I was fine with it. I didn’t want to be bothered by casual conversation before my inhibitions were gone, either.

“Yes, that’ll be it.”

 

* * *

 

 

I know I mentioned the fact that I abhor stalking time, however, I had checked my mobile device, and a total of two hours and a half had passed. I had also been stalking time just so I could catch the aforementioned ‘happy hour’. Three glasses of whiskey did me in quite so, and by the time I mixed a different liquor with my previous choice, I began feeling that infamous cheery sway at the top of my head. That being said, the martini happy hour was not limited to gin; there was vodka, and even the classical concoction with sweet vermouth. I had them all. A shame, that my whiskey-corrupted palate could not grasp the accuracy of their taste.

It was obvious the alcohol began stirring my inhibitions, as I notably mused myself with a few snobs asking the bartender specifically whether or not their cocktail should be stirred and not shaken, or vice-versa, and even the mention of molecules coming into play over their preferred method of preparation. I laughed out loud even, completely without a care, as I stared and smiled back at the these snobs, who were undoubtedly and most notably offended at my reaction. I most definitely was not going to complain about a single mishap, should the bartender have strayed, during this night, I mused once more. Speaking of which…

The sound of a sliding plate across the table snapped me from my obvious grinning into empty space and back to my present. The shy bartender, eyebrows furrowed in what I had assumed was concern, had put a plate of various cheeses and hams; a small selection, but generously arranged nonetheless. Despite my level of intoxication, I simply had no intention to eat the morsels whatsoever.

“On the house sir, you’ve been here for quite a while, after all.” The youth smiled almost bitterly, that expression of concern on his face clearly wanting me to quit drinking. He was a clumsy one, because he was too good natured. A passionate bartender, or mixologist, what have you, would have urged me on, despite putting food in front of me, and maybe even laugh with me. In this sort of atmosphere, such pure kindness would not last him his position here.

“Thank you, and the bill, if you please.” I ordered, smiling, eyes surely lidded and shifty, assuming I must have looked like an idiot. It certainly was a contrast as to how I had stepped into the bar in the first place- a few hours ago I was serious, unsympathetic, aloof.

I gulped down the last of my tenth cocktail, clearly having a difficult time thinking due to the imposing level of intoxication, sans food to back me up on my system. As the bill arrived, I signed the digital screen clumsily after hovering my mobile device for a total of four times above the digitalized contraption. I dreamt of traveling back in time to simply signing a piece of paper instead.

I stood up slowly, so as to not sway much. I was a tall man, and I believed in my willing strength to hold my liquor enough not to fall over. The party sitting next to me glanced at me occasionally, waiting for any given moment my body would give way. But it didn’t. Remembering these were the folk I offended not too long ago, I slid the untouched plate of cheeses and hams over to their side. They stared at me in partial amusement, or disbelief, I could not read faces anymore.

“You can have this most prestigious selection; I’ve not touched it whatsoever. My apologies for having offended you earlier.” I half-slurred as I smiled, and then turned around to exit the pub.

 

* * *

 

The cold was anything but hostile now, despite being later into the night; the levels of alcohol made sure of that. The volume of people grew as they headed in different directions towards their nighttime activities. The sound echoed from everywhere, as people next to me sounded far away, and people far away sounded like they were next to me. Then it slowly occurred to me, that this was a bad time. This was a bad time after all. People were everywhere! I would not be able to culminate my celebration in peace, no, not like this. I sulked.

Despite the social fuzz, I made it out of the Brooklyn isle, walking briskly towards the bridge. As I reached the middle of the bridge, I began straying to the side, then began climbing above the fence, crawling down towards the iron beam that connected to the rest of the lattice. My adrenaline rushed, and it helped me maintain balance. I kept crawling, occasionally moving in crumply squats, my sight set towards the vast body of water lying before me. I reached the ledge, and I stood upon it. Then music, as routinely scheduled around nine-o’-clock, began playing aloud.

I was never this close to the spectacle that took place here in the middle of East River, overlooking the isles of New York. Everyone in the city could see it, a spectacle that gave our Lady of Freedom a run for her money. The instrumental melody introduced us, the city and I, to a bewitching figure in the form of light, beautiful, as artificial as she was, a moving, dancing holographic illusion of a lady about to give us a performance. The titanic, faux songstress graced us with her elegant movements to finely composed jazz; oh but, it was not the same song or spectacle every night. Some nights she danced, some nights she recited. Some nights she would beam with enthusiasm, as for others just sway calmly, looking solemn. Tonight, I believe, was such a night. They called her “Lux”.

My form was completely engulfed in her light now; I could have been blinded. It was amazing to a surreal degree, the alcohol making this experience all the more extraordinary. By now, I was sure the chilled wind could cut my skin, but I could not bring myself to care, after all, this is what I wanted. My inevitable end. I might have miscalculated time by doing this in plain traffic and high hours, but ah- what a beautiful end it has become, my greatest mistake!

I could feel the people chanting in unison, screaming energetically. I could feel their awe. I did not have to turn around to know that the pedestrians’ eyes were wide as saucers, as they witnessed the artificial goddess in front of me. Surely, many were envious at the fact that I was in front row. Some five minutes or so after, the song was coming to an end. Her movements were slower, and slower, enticing me in. Those eyes, for the first time that night, looked straight into my own; thus, she beckoned at me. Beckoned at me with a titan hand, whispering the end of that melody softly, a sonnet, perhaps. I had been rude, and I seldom paid attention to the words she sang, transfixed by her opulence.

I jumped, letting the gravity suck me straight down towards the frigid waters. I believe the people were at their peak now, all screaming together in unadulterated awe. Thanks to the six glasses of whiskey and four martinis, my blood was warm, my skin felt numb, and the impact of the water was smoother than I had anticipated. Then I smiled. I was in her! The entirety of her figure, completely surrounding me. The lights flickered and swayed so beautifully around me, and I enjoyed that last drink for the night, as I joined my lady Lux to a drink of the East River.

**Author's Note:**

> I said I'd stay away from social media, but I've been writing, and wanted to post this here (written a while ago, but I revised it again). More tags to come, and maybe a title change (I'm bad with titles, and so far this one isn't convincing me). Some art will come out of this eventually, which will be posted at [my art blog.](http://m-illustr.tumblr.com)  
> Originally, I wanted to make this a comic, but it's faster to write alone than write AND draw (duh). Concrit is welcomed, I haven't dedicated time to writing in quite a while.


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